


Constitutional Crisis

by FabulaRasa



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-08
Updated: 2010-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:12:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulaRasa/pseuds/FabulaRasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Atlantis is a free, open, and non-discriminatory society -- except if you happen to be wearing a uniform.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constitutional Crisis

Elizabeth's eyes wore shadows they hadn't when she had left for Earth a month ago, and she was, if possible, even thinner, but for all its weariness, her smile lit her face.

"I think we did a good job," she said, landing the five pound document on her desk with a thunk. "I think you'll be pleased with the result. We worked round the clock, and it took seventy-five delegates from fifteen different countries, sometimes all shouting at once, but gentlemen." She took a breath and surveyed her command staff. "Atlantis has a provisional constitution." She crossed her arms. "And now Rodney, I would like my desk back."

"Oh, fine," he grumbled. "I didn't know if you wanted to hold something a little more formal, you know, make the hand-off smoother. Give people a chance to make the adjustment."

"I've adjusted fine. Now get your feet off my desk, please."

"Fine, fine, moving aside, let no one say Rodney McKay can't be gracious in the hour of his demotion. Though I did have one more meeting I was hoping to—"

"Rodney!"

He hopped adroitly up. "Handing off."

"Now. I know everyone will want a chance to look through it. I've got five hard copies, as well as discs, of course, so I want you all to get busy reading through it. Now, I can't promise any changes could be made, but I would like to know if anything strikes you as terribly out of order. Keep in mind, Atlantis is going to be significantly larger soon, with the limited declassification going on, and the civilian population is going to be growing by leaps and bounds. We tried our best to find ways to accommodate—Colonel Sheppard? Something I can help you with?"

Sheppard grinned as he pulled the book from her desk. "Nah, I'm good. Carry on." He opened it up and began flipping through it, skimming the table of contents. Zelenka leaned over his shoulder.

"Oh! Turn to that page, there is a—"

"Hey, wait your turn, I called it first."

Rodney shouldered his way through. "What? As Atlantis's second-in-command, I think it only appropriate that I—"

"Gentlemen! You will all get a chance, now if I—"

"The military section's a little short," Sheppard broke in, not looking up.

"Yes. The delegates decided that a complete rewrite of military provisions was impractical, as well as unnecessary. The American military presence will continue to be the chief one, and the member countries will supply liaison contingents at the discretion of their respective governments and Stargate Command."

"Contingents of what size?" Sheppard frowned, flipping the page.

"I'm sure that the base commander's input will be required before any decisions are made, of course. And you would remain in command – there have been no alterations to the military command structure, which is why there have been no significant adjustments to the military regulations section."

He closed the document and handed it off to Zelenka. "Okay. Your turn. I think I've read enough."

"I would appreciate it if each of you would agree to read through the entire document, not just the parts that concern you directly," she said, frowning at Sheppard. "If you could take the week to carefully peruse what we have put together, and get back to me with any questions or concerns?"

"Do we get new color shirts?" Rodney asked eagerly, glancing up from the page he was reading. He swatted at Zelenka's hands.

"Yeah, McKay, that was section 205.8. Because Elizabeth just spent four weeks playing Queer Eye for the Intergalactic Guy." He rolled his eyes.

"Details are important to morale, Colonel, and my division's well-being means everything to me."

"You're a martyr to the common good." With a glance at his watch, Sheppard pushed off from the table he was leaning against. "Okay, I've got a drill to run in a few minutes – I'll be in the training rooms if you need me, Elizabeth."

"I'll need your report on this as soon as possible, John," she called to his back as it headed through the door. He lifted his hand in acknowledgment, already trotting down the stairs.

"Okay, so, down to brass tacks," Rodney said, rubbing his hands together. "Did you get anywhere on that separate judicial tribunal for the science officers we had talked about? Because I really think that as a way to bolster my authority—"

"Rodney." She arched a brow.

"Yes yes fine, I'm negotiable on that one, but how about—"

"Here." She pulled a disc from her jacket. "Read it yourself. And if your notes are longer than the actual document I am not reading them."

"Right right," he gave a dismissive hand wave. "Wait a minute. I'm still second-in-command, right?"

"Rodney. Read. Now. Go." She pointed out the door.

"Oh my God, you did, you wrote me out! You went back to Earth and staged a coup! I've been rendered obsolete." He snatched the disc. "It's a beer hall putsch."

Zelenka looked up from the page, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Ah, good! A Hitler reference is just what this conversation is missing. Come Rodney, there is much reading to do, come, come." He put the tome back on Elizabeth's desk and steered Rodney out the door, still muttering.

Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. There would be many times in the next few weeks, she was sure, that she longed for the relative peace and serenity of the seventy-five delegates shouting at each other in nine different languages.

~

"Section 8854-J."

Elizabeth looked up. "You've finished it?"

"I have."

"That was fast."

"I'm a fast reader." Sheppard settled in the chair opposite her desk; she could see the disc in his hand. "Section 8854-J."

She turned her laptop towards her, hit a few keys and scrolled through. The 8800s were the military sections, not anything she had spent too much time on; Landry and Caldwell had had that well in hand, and there had been other things to deal with at the table. She read in silence.

"Okay. I'm not seeing a problem. What is it that has you concerned, Colonel?"

"Section 8854-J says that all military regulations and protocols governing conduct shall remain in place as per the regulations and protocols previously established by the aforesaid United States military in consultation with Stargate Command."

She nodded. He had it memorized, apparently. "Yes. Of course the American military presence will remain the chief one. Other nations will be sending military representatives, but strictly in an advisory capacity."

"These 'advisors.' Will they be under my command?"

"Absolutely. If you scroll down to the next sections, you will see that the command structure—"

"Remains in place as per yadda yadda whatever. Take it back." He tapped the disc against his knee.

"Take it back?"

"Take it back. It's unworkable."

She folded her hands. "I'm going to need a little bit more than that. This document represents a significant amount of work on the part of lots of people, John. What in particular do you find unworkable?"

His eyes were unreadable as ever, and he didn't move. "The regs. The foreign officers under my command. Any chance any of them will be gay, do you think?"

She studied her folded hands. "I have no idea," she said quietly.

"Well, let's just paint a little picture here. Let's say one of these officers is gay, and just happens to be a little less than discreet about a relationship with another officer. Of course in the foreign officer's military protocols, there's nothing about homosexuality being incompatible with the service. So let's say I ignore the issue, because frankly, I could give a shit. But if the issue is brought to Colonel Caldwell's attention, or General Landry's, who do you think is going to be brought up on charges right along with Officer Nookie? I'll get nailed for negligence of regs and failure to discipline, and you know, what with worrying about all the new and inventive ways people are finding to kill us out here, I'd rather not have to worry about all the new and inventive ways I could find to lose my job. That's just one more worry I'd rather not have."

She sighed, leaning back, and decided to study Sheppard instead of her hands. He was sitting quite still, she realized – too still. It would take someone who had known John Sheppard for quite some time to recognize, as she did, that underneath the lightness in his voice he was in fact very, very angry. She nodded, slowly. "I understand your concerns," she said.

"I won't enforce these regs, Elizabeth," he said, and his voice was as quiet as hers. "I've been base commander for a year and a half, and I've looked the other way plenty of times. I put up with the regs because I thought that was the best we could do. But now we have a chance to do better. We have a chance to build a new world out here, and this is what we drag with us? The same old crap the old world gave us?" He tossed the disc on her desk with a flick of his wrist, and again, she saw in the controlled motion how close it was to becoming a hurl across the room. "Take it back."

She watched the disc for a minute, in order not to watch John's face. It was a diplomat's reflex; when people were angry, you avoided looking at them. Direct gazes could stoke anger, and anger clouded issues, made discussion difficult.

"The opening paragraphs of the new constitution make it clear that Atlantis is a free, open, and non-discriminatory society," she began carefully.

"Except if you happen to be wearing a uniform." He rose, his movements still slow and controlled. "Take it back." He rose and held up a hand to forestall her, though in truth she didn't know what she would say. "Take it back. Or get yourself a new base commander."

He was out the door as quickly as he had been earlier this afternoon in her office, and she knew then that he had been angry even then, that he had seen what he was looking for then, and had waited.

~

The dull thwack of the punching bag could be heard from outside the door, and Rodney scowled. There was no way, gloves or no, that that wasn't going to leave bruises.

"John." There was no answer, no sign that the half-naked, sweat-drenched figure at the bag even heard him. He wasn't even sparring, if he ever had been; he was just standing there, taking swing after swing, not so much boxing with the bag as beating it, pummeling it. "John."

He faltered then, and his next swing was only half-hearted, as though his arms were on auto-pilot and couldn't quite stop yet. He was panting too hard to talk.

"John, what the hell are you doing?"

Sheppard stumbled over, tossing his gloves as he went, slumping on the bench. He was breathing so hard it lifted him off the bench with every breath. "Boxing," he got out at last. "Exercise. You've heard of it."

"At one-thirty in the morning? Are you insane?"

Sheppard knelt, head between his knees, and at first Rodney was afraid he might be passing out. "I just needed a work-out," he said.

Rodney bent and picked up the towel, tossing it at him. "Well, wipe off or something. You're a one-man humidifier, and you stink. Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

He turned his head, scratching at the back of his hair with the towel – another excuse not to look at him, of course. "John. Talk to me. Please."

"What are you doing up?"

Rodney shrugged. "Got stuck in the lab. Another of the engineers decided to go get his cerebrum swapped for another anus, apparently, because I had to spend three hours this evening recalibrating differential equations just to keep us all from being swamped by sewage, thank you very much, and fuck, John, please tell me what's wrong."

He did turn then, and something twisted in Rodney's gut at the sight of his eyes. "Did you read it?"

"This is what you're upset about? The constitution? Oh, look, I was just kidding, really – I didn't really expect the whole separate tribunal thing to go through, and I appreciate your being all concerned on my behalf, but really it's fine, I just—"

The towel hit the floor with a wet smack. "Stop it."

They sat in silence a minute, and Rodney chewed his lip. "Civil unions are in," he began in a quieter voice. "Sanchez and Roberts already know. They're planning on something as soon as next month, if everything goes through."

Sheppard leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Good. That's great. I'm really happy for them. Cake and champagne all around."

"My, aren't we the asshole."

"Yes, we are."

They sat through some more silence, until John pushed up. "Look, I'm gonna go get cleaned up," he said.

"All right."

"I—" he lifted a hand, let it drop. "You didn't have to come find me."

"Mm hm." Rodney rose and squinted at him, in that tilted cockeyed way he had. "What's going on in your head, I wonder?"

"Look, I'm just tired, all right? Tired and. . . tired. Tired of. . ." he waved a hand in an echo of Rodney's mannerism, and Rodney felt himself smile at it. Or not so much smile, as unclench his jaw a little, because John in this kind of mood made him frantic, unsure, vaguely panicked. "I'm just tired," John finished, shuffling to the punching bag, collecting his gloves on the way. He leaned his head on the bag, propping himself against it. Clearly he was going to fall asleep right there, or faint in a manly way. Rodney crossed to him and put a hand on the bag near the wet shaggy head.

"You're tired," he offered.

"I'm tired." He half-turned, peering out at Rodney from the shelter of the bag. "And I'm kind of wondering when you're going to get tired, too."

"Ah. So that's it, is it."

He turned his head back into the bag, closing his eyes. "Yeah, Rodney, that's it."

There it was, the pissy tone of voice he could use to derail entire conversations. It was the "nothing I can do about it so I've decided I'm pissed at _you_" tone, and it made Rodney want to unclip the punching bag from the ceiling and beat him with it. Instead, he went with counter-intuitive. He leaned his face as close to John's as he could manage. "Is it possible you just don't get it?" he asked.

"I don't know. Maybe. I'm just – I gotta wonder, you know? At what point—I mean, Christ, Rodney, I've had enough, and if I've had enough—"

"Then it's only a matter of time until I've had enough."

John turned his face full to him, opened his eyes. They were red and narrowed with exhaustion and cracked around the edges. "Aren't you sick of it, Rodney? Of the hiding, the sneaking around like we're fucking criminals, of all the shit—I mean, Jesus, how long can I ask you to—how long before you—"

And none of those sentences needed finishing. He watched John wrap his arms around the bag for greater support, as the bag slowly swayed. "I repeat," he said, so softly that he knew John would have to lean closer to hear. "Is it possible you just don't get it? Is it possible you do not get that I would do anything—John, please look at me." He landed a hand on the back of his neck, and almost flinched at how tense it was, at the stiffness underneath the faint chill of drying sweat. "I would do anything," he whispered, shaking the back of his neck gently. "Anything, to be with you. For as long as it takes. Forever, if we have to. Anything. You think I give a damn about any of that other shit? You think I care? You idiot, you big stupid fucking idiot, don't you know—" and his voice broke as the words caught in his throat, in his own exhaustion. And all he had wanted tonight was to crawl into John's bed and have long warm arms wrapped around him.

Some of his frustration had seeped through, evidently, because John's arms were coming around his neck, now. "Shit," he mumbled. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I'll do whatever you want me to do, tell me what you want me to do, if you want me to quit, I will, I swear to God I will, I will go to Elizabeth right fucking now and I will quit."

Rodney scooted his head closer to John's until their foreheads were almost touching. "You really want me to tell you what to do?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then. I want you to come back to my quarters with me, and I want you to suck my dick until I come my brains out. And then I want you to fuck me, nice and slow, only fast toward the end, and I want to fall asleep with you still inside me, so that when I wake up in the morning hard, you can just start fucking me again. And I want your hand to jack me while you're fucking me."

John paused, evidently thinking. "Which time?"

"The second time. The first time, after you suck me, I probably won't be able to come again. I just want to feel your dick in me. I just want to have you come in me."

"You like that," he murmured, and his voice was husky from more than just exhaustion now. Something in Rodney's gut shifted and re-settled, coiling.

"I like that," he said.

"When I suck you," John said, and Rodney could tell he was trying to keep his voice even, but it sounded like there was something in his throat. "Do you want me on my knees? Or do you want it on the bed?"

"I want you on your back, on the bed. And I want to straddle you and fuck your mouth."

"Fuck," John moaned. "Maybe I'll dig my fingers into your ass while I suck you."

"You could. You could fuck me with your fingers while I'm fucking your mouth. You could get me ready for you."

"Get you ready to fuck," John said, and he sounded dizzy with it, and a little drunk.

"You could," Rodney said again, breathing with difficulty. "I might like that. I could fuck myself on your fingers, then I could lean forward and fuck your mouth. It might make me come really hard."

"In my mouth," John said, in the same dazed voice.

"All in it."

"It might be too much for me to swallow. It might spill out my mouth and down my chin. It could—" he took a sharp, hitching breath. He reached up and grabbed Rodney's other hand, placing it firmly over his crotch, rubbing against it. Rodney swallowed around a sudden dry in his throat, to feel how hard he was already, how hot he felt.

"You need to come right now, don't you," he husked.

"Fuck yes."

"Right here in my hand?"

John made a noise between a whimper and a sob. "Come on, yes."

"Okay, okay, come on then, yes," he muttered, and moved the heel of his hand, hard, against the shaft jutting into it, rubbing through the layers of cloth. "Come in my hand then, just go ahead and fuck my hand if you need to, God yes," and he pushed closer, letting his own rock-hard dick rub against John's hip, letting John grind into his hand. "Come on, come in your pants for me, you know you want to." And he deftly unfastened the front of John's pants, snaking a hand inside, aiming only for hot and hard. He gasped a little when he hit wet, when he felt how slick John already was. "Christ, I forget every time how wet you get. Tastes so good."

"Oh yeah?"

"I love sucking you. I love—God," he whimpered, burying his face in John's neck, and he knew John wasn't going to be the only one coming in his pants. "Christ, John, stop, we have to stop, not here, not here please."

"Yes, here," John growled, pulling back his hand, grinding into it.

"No, no, stop I said, you can't, we can't—"

John's hand was wrapped around his, keeping it in place as he fucked it, thrusting short and sharp and fast now, and Rodney could feel himself beginning to leak into his pants as he bumped John's hip. "Don't fucking move," John said, his lips in a snarl, and Rodney gave a final tremendous shove.

"_No_, goddamnit, stop!" He pushed John away as hard as he could, and John toppled onto his backside, flushed, panting, dick sticking up red and slick from the gap in his boxers.

"Bastard," John moaned, and Rodney knew it was too late. John got a hand around himself, gave one good stroke, and come was spurting out from between his fingers, his eyes tight shut as he rocked through it. "Fuck," he hissed, and Rodney felt his own balls tighten, watching John's come slop over his hand on the floor of the gym, his knuckles white with it.

He clutched a hand to his crotch to try to stop it, feeling his knees start to buckle, knowing it was inevitable. Now John was crawling towards him, and he was powerless to stop John pulling open his pants, grabbing onto his dick. He knew what he was trying to do, knew John was going to suck him, right here, right here on the floor of the gym at one-thirty in the morning, and he lost it. His dick never made it to John's mouth. He started coming the minute John got his hand and a thumb curled around him, coming in hot heavy splashes onto John's face and chin and dripping off his cheek.

"God God fuck," he whimpered, and the sight of it wrenched another spurt from him. He slid down into John's arms, waiting for him, still shuddering.

"Okay, um, sorry," he panted.

"Which part? The part where you pushed me on my ass or the part where you came on my face?"

"Um, both? Look, I, I'm, well – are you wiping your face on my shirt?"

"What the hell else am I gonna use?"

"Oh, I don't know, the _towel_?"

"'S too far away," John said, and sprawled back on the floor. "See? Nothing to worry about. We're just two good buddies who've been doing a little sparring practice."

"Yeah, well, you might want to tuck your dick in first, before you try to sell that story."

"I'll keep it in mind," he smirked, and tugged at Rodney's wrist. Rodney let himself be dragged over on top of him.

"You're sticky. And this is nuts. Do you want to get caught?"

"Maybe so," he whispered, tangling a hand in the back of Rodney's neck. He kept pulling him down until they were mouth to mouth, until they were kissing sloppily, too post-coital to be artful or even very intentional about it – just wet lazy licks and sucks.

"You're insane," Rodney said into the crevice of neck and throat. "And God, you really, _really_ need a shower."

~

Elizabeth sat up at her computer until almost two, thinking. She didn't stay in her office, of course; she tried to keep her hours in the gateroom regular. But in her quarters, she often stayed awake until the early hours of the morning, working, writing, planning, grappling with food supply issues or engineering options or diplomatic strategies.

Many nights, like tonight, she simply sat motionless in front of the blank laptop screen, arms folded, staring at nothing, arranging and rearranging thoughts in her head, shuffling and weighing possibilities until she hit upon the right ones. When she did, she gave a small smile, and rose from her desk. It would not be an easy task, and she had only a week to accomplish it, but she felt certain she could manage it. She shut the laptop with a click and stretched herself fully clothed on her bed, waiting for a sleep that took her before her third deep breath.

~

"So, Dr. Weir, I think we have reached consensus?" General Landry's wide face smiled at her over the table, though she was not fooled by his benignity. "I hear the notes your team members made have proven helpful to the delegates in refining the constitution, and the word is, we should have a final document in a matter of days."

"Yes, that is very good news. I'm going to call the President in just a few minutes and let him know where we stand," she said, her face just as benign. A young aide scooted behind her, handing off some coffee to her and a folder of notes to another officer, and she nodded her thanks. "There is one other matter we should discuss before I head back to Atlantis," she said, and she caught the way he froze, before he forced himself to relax.

"Oh? What might that be?"

"Well, it's a military matter, and I find myself in need of your help."

He glanced over at Caldwell, a quick shift of his gaze, and she pretended not to have noticed. "What seems to be the trouble, Dr. Weir?"

She opened the folder in front of her and pulled out some papers. "It's a bit of an unusual difficulty, but I'm sure it's one you must have encountered before, in your command experience. You see General, my problem is this. The military force you have provided for Atlantis appears to be homosexual." She timed her sip of coffee to his wide-eyed blink.

"I—excuse me, Dr. Weir? Did you say the military force of Atlantis is—homosexual?" His eyes flicked from Caldwell, to Gutierrez, to McDawlish, and he frowned at her.

"Yes," she said blandly. "It is a bit of a situation, isn't it? But apparently, they are."

Caldwell leaned forward. "Are you saying – the _entire_ military force of Atlantis. . ."

"That is what I'm saying, Colonel. Apparently, they are all homosexual, each and every one. You have to admit, statistically, that's quite the anomaly, even for the Marines."

General Landry made a small choking sound in the middle of his throat, and she smiled placidly at him. "Would you like some coffee?"

"I'm fine," he said tersely. "Dr. Weir, what exactly are you saying?"

"Well, General, I think you will agree we face a bit of a dilemma. Now, before we discuss what can be done about this situation – because something clearly must be done – I thought I would show you what it is that has led me to make such an apparently bizarre statement." She sipped her coffee again, and pulled out the top sheaf of papers, stapled together and full of handwritten scrawls. "I have here a signed document, from each and every member of the military force of Atlantis, confessing his or her sexual orientation. I have had some copies made, as well." She began to pass them across the table to General Landry, whose mouth had gone a little slack.

"Now, I think you will see that I have not exaggerated the seriousness of this situation. If you will just take a look at the first page – well, here, I think this might be easier," and she nodded to the young aide who had helped her set up the PowerPoint before the meeting. The projector flickered on. "I would call your attention to number 7 on the list, Major Thomas J. Lorne, who says, and I quote: 'I suck dick like a big sucking donkey.' Now of course, I am not qualified to pass judgment on the sexual lives of donkeys, but that does seem a little strange to me." The aide at the projector made an odd noise. "Or we have number 27, on the following page, Pfc. Jennifer Galtry, who says 'I eat pussy for breakfast.' And I'm sorry to say that number 43, Lieutenant Raul Falco, weapons specialist, has an interesting assertion to make about a night in Jersey City and the father of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Obviously I'm not prepared to comment on that either way." She gave a nod to the aide, who continued scrolling through the names and various enthusiastic claims (some with helpful illustrations) on the screen. "So as you can see, gentlemen, we appear to have a very serious situation on our hands. They are all, every last one of them, homosexuals." She punctuated this with a rueful sip of coffee.

Colonel Caldwell, the top of whose head was a fascinating shade of purple, tossed his pen on the table. "Dr. Weir, did Colonel Sheppard have any idea about this?"

She raised her eyebrows. "About this? Oh no, Colonel, I can assure you he did not. He would never, in any way, shape, or form, solicit information about the sexuality of any of the men or women under his command. That would be the gravest violation of Don't Ask, Don't Tell. Colonel Sheppard would never countenance that, I know for a fact."

Caldwell's eyes turned narrow and mean. "Look here, Doctor, I don't know what you're trying—" He broke off at a gesture from General Landry, who was still studying Elizabeth intently.

"Tell us what it is you propose we should do about this situation, Dr. Weir," he said, in a voice as pleasant as hers.

"Well, of course any decision regarding military policy is completely at the discretion of the SGC, but it does seem to me that we have no choice but to permanently suspend Don't Ask, Don't Tell. I mean, otherwise we are facing having to dismiss over two hundred and sixty-seven troops, all of whom have undergone extensive training, not to mention the security issue – we can't just release two hundred and sixty-seven troops with that kind of sensitive information. And I seriously doubt the SGC is prepared to replace each and every one of them with equally well-trained and equipped replacements at a moment's notice," she said, with a glance at Caldwell, for whose blood pressure she was beginning to fear. "So I think a permanent suspension of that particular regulation, with regard to Atlantis, is going to be the only way to go here, don't you gentlemen agree?"

The room held only stunned silence, in which the plop-hiss of the coffeemaker was particularly loud. She folded her hands and aimed her most pleasant smile at General Landry, and waited. He narrowed his eyes at her, chewing on the corner of his lip. And then something rather odd happened with his mouth. The corner of it twitched upward, a bit spastically, before he wiped a hand over his face.

"I feel sure we can work something out," he said slowly, and Elizabeth slipped her smile into her coffee.

~

I don't understand," he said. "Did you—how did you—" Sheppard looked up in confusion from the document propped on his knee. "They've – I'm sorry, did you say they've _reversed_ the DADT regs? _Reversed_ them?" He was looking at her like something heavy might have fallen on her head.

"Apparently so. I think several of the other member nations raised the same concerns you did, and with enough concerted pressure – well, I suppose they just thought discretion was the better part of valor."

"Or in this case, lack of discretion," he said, flipping through the amended pages. "I don't—this is. . ." he shook his head. "I'm not really sure what to say here."

"Well, don't look at me. Military policy has never made much sense to me. Who knows what goes on in their heads." She put her palms on her desk and rose. "But right now, we've got a briefing to get to," she said, nodding at the briefing room across the hall, where Rodney was visible through the glass walls, already gesticulating wildly about something, shaking his head, and scribbling furiously on the whiteboard at the same time. They stood there for a minute, watching him.

"One of these days," John mused, "he's going to rupture something, doing that."

"Yes," she agreed. "I wonder if it was such a good idea, making him my second. I'm starting to feel a bit nervous, every time I walk out of the room. And he keeps asking about my health, much more than he used to."

"Well. I wouldn't worry too much. That constitution calls for elections, right?"

"Eventually."

"Yeah. Well. That oughta take care of that," he said with a wry smile. He cocked his head, watching Rodney. "It's kinda nice, without the sound on."

"It is," she agreed, and sighed, catching the edge of his smile. "All right, Colonel, let's get to work."


End file.
